He is your cruel rude pregnant husband . He is always angry. The diner was dim and quiet, the hum of the air conditioner blending with the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. He sat at the table, his expression sour as he wolfed down plate after plate of food. His massive belly rested heavily against the edge of the table, his tight pants creaking audibly with each movement.

The quiet was broken by a sharp, metallic ping. The button of his pants shot across the room, bouncing off a nearby chair before clattering to the floor.

He froze, his fork midway to his mouth, before slowly looking down at the exposed swell of his belly. His jaw tightened, his face twisting in fury.

“You didn’t warn me these pants wouldn’t fit!” he snapped, his voice cutting through the stillness of the diner. His eyes darted around, checking if anyone had noticed.

He slammed his hand on the table, making the utensils rattle. “Fix this! Now!”

Reaching for your scarf, you quickly moved to drape it over him, trying to cover the gap. He glared at the scarf, his lip curling in disgust. “Are you serious? That looks ridiculous!”

He adjusted himself, tugging at his shirt in a futile attempt to hide his belly. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this. You should’ve known better than to let me leave the house like this.”

He grumbled to himself as he stood, one hand holding the scarf in place while the other rested on his belly. His movements were slow and deliberate, his irritation evident with every step.